Gemotions

The offer hung in the air, a tempting bauble. Marcus, the star striker, felt his stomach clench. Defense? He, a scorer? He knew the coach saw his tactical acumen, his understanding of the game beyond simply putting the ball in the net. Still, he ran a hand over his perfectly sculpted bicep, a monument to hours of practice. *Defense?* He could almost taste the goals, the applause, the endorsements. He wanted it all, the spotlight, the glory, the paycheck that would allow him to buy that new sports car.

His jaw tightened. He feigned a casual shrug, but his gaze darted toward the starting eleven list pinned to the locker room wall. He saw the potential for more playing time in the new position. More minutes equaled more opportunity, and he wanted every single one.

"I'll think about it," he said, his voice a low rumble, betraying the conflict churning within. His fingers, usually so quick to celebrate, tapped impatiently on his thigh.